


[vore] This is what happens when you don't pick up your sock

by wolfbunny



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Non-fatal vore, Other, Soft Vore, Underfell, Vore, safe vore, unwilling vore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-06
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2018-10-15 05:34:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10550928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfbunny/pseuds/wolfbunny
Summary: You get eaten.By a Gaster Blaster.D:





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [UltimateGamer101](https://archiveofourown.org/users/UltimateGamer101/gifts).



“SANS! I TOLD YOU TO PICK UP YOUR SOCK!” Papyrus crossed his arms and leaned over his older brother.

“I did.” The smaller skeleton lounged on the couch, unruffled by the display.

“THEN WHY IS IT STILL HERE?” Papyrus already regretted it even as he asked, knowing he was going to get a smart-alecky answer.

“You didn’t say not to put it back down.”

Papyrus un-crossed his arms in order to gesticulate with rage. Unable to put his frustration into words, he finally threw his arms up with a “NYAH!”

Sans actually looked scared. Which wasn’t that unusual, but Papyrus was surprised—he’d thought his brother had a little more backbone than that. Then he noticed Sans’s eyelights were pointed just over his shoulder, and he realized in his directionless anger he’d summoned a blaster.

Well, he definitely wasn’t going to let on that it hadn’t been on purpose. He stepped aside to let the blaster float closer to the couch as his brother scrambled upright.

“Boss, what are you doing?”

The blaster nipped at Sans’s jacket and pulled him off the couch. He cast a nervous glance at his brother, but Papyrus was standing back, folding his arms in concentration.

The blaster let go of his jacket and opened its jaws. Panic flashed across his soul—blasters were for _blasting_ —but there was no signature whine of the beam charging up to fire, so he relaxed. Papyrus wouldn’t fire a blaster at him, no matter how angry he was.

He tensed up again as he realized the blaster had a tongue. He should have been able to see the carpet clearly through its split lower jaw when it was wide open like this, without even the charging magic to get in the way. He _could_ see it a little because the magic composing the tongue was translucent, the same glowing red as his brother’s. His eyes swept up the length of the tongue to the depths where the magical energy normally built up in a glowing ball before firing, but despite the glow of its tongue the furthest recesses of its jaws were somehow pitch black.

“B-boss, what is this?”

He turned to see if Papyrus looked extra-angry or only regular-angry, but before he could even look properly the blaster snatched him up in its jaws. Sans flailed for a moment, but the jaws opened again, releasing him. The blaster had only lifted him up so that he fell forward onto its tongue. He tried to prop himself up with his hands, rather than lying with his rib cage pressed against the tongue, but the surface was so slippery he fell back onto it. Grasping the jawbones instead, he pushed himself backward, but the blaster tilted back so that he had to fight gravity just to keep himself in place. He lifted his head to look plaintively at his brother.

“Boss, what are you doing? Let me off this thing.”

Papyrus just looked annoyed. A flick of his hand caused the blaster to tilt even further, and Sans’s attention was fully occupied by trying not to slide deeper into its maw—unsuccessfully.

“Boss—bro— _Papyrus—stop!”_

Sans’s voice rose higher with panic as he lost his grip only to catch himself again by bracing his hands in the crook of the jaws. He was not the kind of skeleton that did handstands.

_“Paps—please!”_

The blaster’s tongue undulated, pushing him off-balance until he lost his grip again and fell face-first into its throat. Sans tried to scream, but his protests were muffled by the magical flesh of its throat. The blaster gulped and Papyrus couldn’t hear his brother’s voice at all anymore. The blaster jerked, birdlike, to shift Sans and let him fall deeper into its throat, knocking his bones around with a rattle each time. In between gulps, Sans’s hands desperately grabbed at anything available, without much effect, until the blaster had swallowed enough of his arms that his range of motion was too limited to even try. He still kept kicking futilely until the blaster finally swallowed his hips, and his legs followed in one easy gulp.

Papyrus relaxed as the blaster finished and resumed a neutral horizontal orientation, then tilted slightly toward its master, looking pleased with itself. He dispelled it and sat down on the couch himself, drained by the effort of controlling the summons in such a precise and unfamiliar way.

When he had recovered a little he would move that cursed sock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this? Third-person omniscient narration? I wanted to switch between perspectives but I didn't want to divide it into sections because it's not even 1000 words to start with ^^;
> 
> This was supposed to be fatal but I think he's really just having a time-out in the void or a pocket dimension :3
> 
> Update: It's totally not fatal because there are gonna be more chapters :3 Can't have more chapters without Sans


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last time on "When You Don't Pick Up Your Sock": Sans got eaten by a blaster.

Sans eventually stopped screaming. It was pitch black. He’d never seen anything this dark. It was impossible, because his own eye lights produced a minuscule glow that would be noticeable if it were really completely dark in the room—but this wasn’t a room. He could feel something pressing against him from every side. It was neither warm nor cool, just … present. He tried to lift his own hand in front of his face to see if his eye light would at least reflect off _that_ , but while whatever was surrounding him was soft enough not to crush him it was somehow also firm enough to keep him from any more movement than a feeble squirm.

His soul raced. He tilted his skull downward to try to get a glimpse of his body, but there was nothing but blackness. It was as if his eye lights weren’t even on. He strained to move, until he was panting with effort, somehow not suffocated by the darkness even though it was so close all around him.

As disconcerting as it was not to be able to see or move, it wasn’t really uncomfortable. The pulse of his soul gradually slowed. He couldn’t see anything, couldn’t hear anything but his own breath. It was peaceful, if he didn’t think too hard about where he was or how he’d gotten there. Focusing on the memory made his soul beat faster again. Even more disturbing was the question of what would happen next. Was he going to be stuck here forever, until he just fell down? Where was he anyway? If the blaster ate him, was this its stomach? And if so, was it going to … digest him somehow? He prodded at the darkness with one hand; it gave slightly but otherwise didn’t move. He could almost forget it was there, if he wasn’t so accustomed to being able to see and move, which presumably he would have been able to do if not for this mysterious substance.

Surely Papyrus wouldn’t have done this to him if he was going to be stuck here forever, he told himself. But Papyrus had never done anything like this before, insisted his gnawing doubt. He’d been so calm and controlled—he’d had to be to manipulate such complicated magic. Sans had never seen a blaster with a tongue before, and that was nothing compared to its throat being some kind of portal to the void. Had Papyrus been practicing this in secret? Had he been planning this for a while? Was it just a punishment or a prank—Papyrus didn’t seem the type to play pranks but he did like setting up lethal traps and puzzles for humans—but he’d never tested them on his 1-HP brother before … Or was it intended as a more permanent solution to Sans’s irritating qualities?

Sans went over it all in his mind several times before he ran out of any new thoughts to think about it. It was hard to guess how long he’d been trapped here in the darkness. He couldn’t tell if his eyes were open or shut, lit or extinguished. Eventually his train of thought just slowed to a stop.

 

He was startled when he fell backwards onto the carpet, limbs flailing instinctively but not doing much to cushion the blow. He blinked, completely failing to prop himself up with his arms because he had forgotten what it was like to be able to move them. Regaining his vision, he saw a familiar ceiling, which allowed him to orient himself well enough to turn his skull toward the couch. Papyrus was standing there, his expression grimly satisfied.

Papyrus’s blaster floated down and nudged Sans in the chest. He tried to shove it away, more coordinated now, but it was like pushing against a wall. It still had its tongue, and it licked his cheekbone with just the tip, before Papyrus dispelled it with an irritated gesture.

“Boss?” Sans made another attempt to sit up on the carpet. “What _was_ that?”

Papyrus just glared, harrumphed and stalked away into the kitchen.

He must have been worried.

He would probably make something Sans liked for dinner today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's at least one more chapter, probably two.
> 
> I wonder how could Sans be shrunk to a more conveniently nommable size?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans apparently liked it :3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't forgotten this fic :3  
> Not sure exactly what I'm gonna do next with it though.

Sans leaned against the softly glowing tongue, the only light source in the room, exploring it with his hands. It felt soft, warm, and slightly damp—probably the same as any other ecto-tongue, but even though it was, no matter how you looked at it, his own magic, he somehow didn’t want to risk cross-contamination by feeling his own tongue for comparison, now that he had the blaster’s magic residue—saliva?—on his hands. He moved his hands to grasp the sides of its lower jaw, and it murred happily. He looked up even though he couldn’t see its eyes from inside its jaws. That was odd. It had never vocalized at all before.

Sans gave a little hop to see if he could get onto the tongue, but he just slid back off. He was going to have to get the blaster to do most of the work. Maybe that was better, anyway. It would look really odd to actively feed himself to it. Not that he would be caught dead doing this in the first place.

Focusing, he directed the blaster to close its jaws around him, carefully, not too hard, just firmly enough to pick him up. Then he had it tilt back. He slid out—it hadn’t bitten down hard enough. He tried again, and this time was rewarded with a giddy rush as his feet left the floor of his room, even as the teeth pressed into him hard enough to be uncomfortable.

Once the blaster’s jaws were tilted upward past the horizontal, he loosened its grip, letting himself slide down the tongue deeper into its mouth. His soul raced. This—this was the good part. “Nnf,” he said as his skull came to a rest in the back of the blaster’s mouth. His face was pressed against its tongue, forcing him to keep his eyes shut. Perhaps his blaster was a bit smaller than his brother’s, since it seemed to have more trouble … swallowing him … or perhaps it was just that he couldn’t see what he was doing.

He tilted the blaster further, tried opening the jaws a little wider, moving the tongue, anything he could think of. He’d been a bit terrified when Papyrus had done this, and he found he couldn’t remember exactly how he had gone about it. Still, he managed to work himself gradually deeper, until suddenly, his shoulders got past the tightest place at the entrance of the throat, and he slid the rest of the way in easily.

“Oof!” He hit the floor skull-first, and lay there, suspended, with his arms stretched across the floor and feet still caught in the blaster’s throat.

“SANS? WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

Sans finally opened his eyes. The door to his room was cracked open—had Papyrus really arrived so quietly that he hadn’t noticed? Or had he been concentrating hard enough to miss his brother opening the door?

“Nothing!” He kicked his feet loose at the same time as he dispelled the blaster, falling the rest of the way to the floor with a thunk.

“SANS!” Papyrus sounded angry now, probably worried about Sans’s HP. “YOU KNOW IF YOU WANT TO GET EATEN BY A BLASTER YOU ONLY HAVE TO ASK ME!”


End file.
